During his proposal (which you can read about here: Assholes and My Engagement Story), I made it quite clear that he is NOT Old McKruger, nor Farmer Joe, to which he responded sheepishly (yes, that pun is intended), "I know." Now I call him Farmer Joe (which he is convinced I do just to make fun of him) and I am thinking I should start calling him Old McKruger now. You know, switch things up a bit!
Old McKruger had a farm, E-I-E-I-O, and on that farm he had fucking chickens that cock-a-doodle at 5 a.m.!
I know I complain about it a lot. I am still kind of miffed about it, but I love Old McKruger will all my heart and when I saw the look on his face when he pulled his first egg out of the hen house yesterday, I forgave him...mostly! How could I not, he was down right adorable. Cute, like baby chick, cute. (If they stayed yellow and fluffy and didn't grow to be all flapping wings, peaking beaks, and scratching claws, and shit, I wouldn't have an chicken complex.)
If you've been visiting at all during May you'll know that I am taking part in The ABC's of Swearing. E was a tough one; there was nothing on the list under 'E', so being the genius that I am, I thought of one myself.
Eat Out (because I enjoy it so very much) - to go to a restaurant and enjoy a delicious meal. Get your minds out of the gutter, you pervs!
